Free Guardian Girl (The Chronicles of Staffordshire) by NC Simmons Page B

Hall.
    The other girls on the floor gave them a nickname.
    “Lee-Nor.”
     

     
    Late one crisp, fall evening, the girls lay on their beds, reading to the strains of the Academy of St. Martin-in-the-Fields rendition of “Autumn” from Vivaldi’s “Four Seasons.” Lenore lounged barefoot in a comfortably loose, button up, sleeveless denim dress. Lena wore something more “Sardi-like”; ragged, hand-cut short-shorts and a plain, white T.
    Without warning, Lena abruptly closed her book, tossed it to her desk, rolled to her side, and propped her cheek on her fist. She cocked her head and stared at Lenore.
    No smile. No words. Just a penetrating, curious stare.
    Lenore, sensing Lena’s gaze, glanced sideways. Lena winked. Lenore smiled. The model mimicked her roommate, closing and uncharacteristically tossing her own book to the floor, peering back at Lena with equal intensity.
    The girls watched each other, occasionally mugging and smirking, fighting the urge to totally crack up. As Lenore studied the frosh on the opposite side of the room, she experienced a painful moment of awakening. Lenore never before paid attention to Lena’s sublime beauty. She was simply too wrapped up in her own world to care.
    It wasn’t that Lenore didn’t like Lena. She did. A lot . Lena was the most likable and loving girl Lenore had ever met. After just a few months together, Lenore comfortably called Lena her “sister.”
    But Lenore never once paid attention to Lena’s appearance beyond the buxom girl’s utter disdain for underwires. Beyond the thoughtless superficiality of, “My roommate wears a lot of T-Shirts and jeans,” Lenore was stumped. Accustomed to analyzing and critiquing the style of other runway divas, Lenore never once paused to consider her roommate’s earthy allure.
    As Lenore played the staring game, her world tumbled.
    Lena wore her typical “in for the night” outfit; a scandalous pair of hand-cut shorts and a white T-shirt. Lena’s hair - never down, always up – struck Lenore as sensuously intoxicating. Lena’s Mediterranean genes endowed her with a thick, silken head of dark, brunette hair, properly complimenting her rich coloring. Lenore could not imagine why Lena always wore such long, beautiful hair pinned up or in a ponytail. As Lenore stared at Lena, she envisioned her roommate resplendent in a delicate Shalamar dress, wearing her hair down, shining strands fanning out across her shoulders.
    Lenore scanned Lena’s face. She never asked Lena her nationality and, curiously, Lena never mentioned it. Lenore caught glimpses of deep dimples in her roommate’s cheeks, surmising the tennis player came from a long line of Italian or Greek beauties, with irresistible chocolate eyes and the supernaturally carved cheekbones of a goddess.
    Lenore’s gaze lingered, floating and stalling here and there over the lines and curves of Lena’s body. She admired Lena’s full, pendulous chest, surmising that if Lena were to ever wear a bra it would uplift an already eye-popping bosom. Lena’s breasts hung heavily into one of her signature tops and she leaned on her elbow, studying Lenore in return.
    Moving down Lena’s body, Lenore drank in Lena's, bronzed, sinewy legs, imagining the sensation of Lena’s powerful limbs straddling her narrow waist as the pair lay naked in Lenore’s bed… Kissing… Embracing…
    Lenore’s heart fluttered. Her eyes popped. She felt heat and an itchy tingling in an unfortunate place. Her mind reeled.
    Lenore dropped to her mattress and flipped her head toward the wall, praying Lena would not taunt her for losing the staring game. Lena persisted with her gaze. Such a tight bond had formed between the girls in their few weeks together that Lenore felt Lena’s eyes boring into her from across the room.
    “Stop it!” Lenore pleaded.
    “Stop what?” Lena replied, stone cold stupid.
    “You are staring at me.”
    Still a touch insipid, Lena returned volley. “In case you